A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow Snippets
by flecksofpoppy
Summary: A series of snippets from my Grelliamverse, "A Time to Reap, A Time to Sow."
1. Will's New Office

**Author's Note:** I've been working on this fic off and on for over a year and a half now. It's about Will and Grell's relationship from start to finish, and the first half is really made up a lot of "slice of life" snippets. Here's the deal: This saga begins with Will hooking up with Grell the night of their graduation in a moment of impulsive desire. Will doesn't even know what to think after the fact. He doesn't regret it, but simply lets it be and carries on without any intention of allowing it to happen again.

This as-of-yet-unposted fic is about what happens in the century that follows. These are some slice-of-life snippets of Will and Grell in their younger years at the Dispatch.

A big, huge thank you to aliencadette on tumblr, who beta read this monster in its entirety last year.__

* * *

_(ca. 1805-1810)_

Will's first office is small and shared with another reaper who he doesn't particularly like. His coworker tends to chew smelly tobacco and has a bronze container he spits into.

Will's impeccable sense of professionalism and decorum keeps him quiet about the repulsive habit. However, he's finding out very quickly that if there's one thing that truly riles him, it's people in his position that have absolutely no sense of responsibility, integrity, or the sacred nature of the job.

Will hadn't exactly excelled while working in Collections. Of course, he'd proven acceptably efficient, but the upper management had thought he'd be far more useful in an office setting.

They had been right, and Will was privately relieved by the decision to move him. This is partially due to a fact that Will won't admit unless upon pain of being reaped, and that is that he doesn't like sending human souls to Hell.

Sentencing is a predetermined fate; a reaper's only job is to monitor whether there's an exception to the rule, and there are very rarely exceptions.

The memory of being entrenched in the very human consciousness of Thomas Wallis, however, left him with unwelcome emotions every time he reaped a soul with his own hands.

Will doesn't let his mind dwell on that too much, though, since it only acts as a distraction and makes his life unenjoyable. ("Enjoyment" for Will is an office without a spittoon... preferably that he doesn't share with someone else.)

On the other hand, this is why Grell Sutcliff has been placed in Collections, even though he's always on thin ice, and has been the day he underwent exams. However, his ability to reap more souls during a shift than half the Collections department combined, when he actually puts in the effort, is what keeps his status quo. That trump card will only last so long, of course.

However, Will finds that one thing he does enjoy is finalizing Grell's demotions and disciplinary action paperwork when he acts improperly.

Will has the same stamp that all other Administrative personnel do: a circle with the word "COMPLETE" spelled out in large, bold uppercase letters. Whenever an assignment or open case is closed, the stamp is thudded down on the paper in bright red ink.

_"Grell Sutcliff: Accused of being late to an assigned reap and causing cinematic record to remain spinning in postmortem body. Trauma mitigated soul's intended placement in purgatory to immediate ascension into heaven. Conclusion: Suspended with pay to desk work for one week."_

Thud.

"COMPLETE."

Will's pleasure in stamping the disciplinary action paperwork may also have something to do with the fact that Grell has made a sport out of trying to capture Will's attention, mainly because he knows he won't get it. Every dinner hour without fail, he shows up at Will's (side of) the new office for his daily jollies.

This particular day is no different, much to Will's chagrin.

"Oh, _William,_" he croons as he enters the office with a flourish, "what a dreary decorating job. Would you like to borrow a woman with a keen eye for décor?"

"No thank you, Sutcliff," Will responds, not looking up and adjusting his drawer so that all of the pencils are in a row and perfectly sharpened. "Please do me the courtesy of leaving my office if you find it so dreary."

"Oh, but _you're_ here, my lovely," Grell replies, and then much to Will's utter dismay, has the gall to perch - _perch_ - on his desk.

"Sutcliff, remove your person from my desk immediately," he says, sitting up straight in his chair and frowning, "that is highly inappropriate."

Grell does the opposite, and instead, tilts his hips suggestively and turns toward Will.

"Who is that, Spears? Your girlfriend?" comes a positively salty voice from the other side of the divider.

"Why, yes, darling," Grell trills in response. "Who are you?"

A slightly grizzled looking man walks around the corner from behind the divider, stopping to spit into his the bronze container Will so strongly despises.

The expression on Grell's face is worthy of a laugh.

"You are not my... girlfriend," Will interrupts awkwardly. "This is Grell Sutcliff," he says, nodding his head in Grell's direction with a look of distaste. "He's an employee in Collections."

"Oh, so you're the Sutcliff everyone is always talking about," his office mate says, eyes widening. "I went through an entire red ink pad in one month because of you."

"Well, darling," Grell says, bending his leg up and planting a high heeled, very red shoe (Will stifles the urge to sigh) on the surface of Will's desk, "red is my favorite color, after all."

To Will's surprise, his office mate actually stops for a moment and lets his eyes run over Grell's body swiftly, then looks away. Grell gives him a cheeky smile and tosses his hair slightly.

"Get off my desk, Sutcliff," Will finally says, breaking the moment. He nudges Grell's side firmly enough to warn that he will push him off the edge and onto the floor.

"William! It's highly inappropriate to touch a coworker in such a manner!" Grell shrieks breathlessly, righting himself with a scandalized expression as he gets to his feet.

He gives Will's now enraptured coworker a wink and turns toward Will again before walking out the door. "Really, William," he says, "I know we deal in death, but this moratory color scheme has just got to go."

Grell swishes away, leaving the distinct scent of... roses, is it? ... in the office. Will picks up a piece of paper and waves it around to clear the air.

"How do you know Grell Sutcliff?" his stunned office mate asks.

Grell has become something of a local legend around Administration, mostly due to the fact that a reaper hasn't come along in quite a long time that possess his combination of flawless practical skills _and_ borderline sociopathic ethics.

"He was my exam partner," Will replies simply.

"Really? Did the poor human even stand a chance?"

"It was I that made the decision," Will says, adjusting his glasses, "and I that reaped the subject of our exam."

At that moment, Will realizes for the first time that a few words sprinkled in a conversation, but of a particularly potent strength, are like drops of iodine that sterilize murky, diseased water.

The spittoon is gone the next day, and soon, Will finds he has the office to himself.


	2. Shoes

_(ca. 1805-1815)_

Grell has taken to filing his nails in Will's office, and Will has given up on trying to kick him out. However, he does at least have the common decency (Will threatened to reap him with a metal emery board otherwise) to drape himself horizontally over a chair against the wall, instead of Will's desk, his legs hanging over the armrest as he studies his nails critically.

"Really, Will," he says, "do you ever speak to anyone besides yourself and that plant?"

Will ignores Grell completely, busily writing up a summary of the prior day's reaps in painfully neat, cursive letters. He finishes the line and finally looks up.

"Grell, has it ever occurred to you to spend your lunch hour at your own desk?" Will asks, and looks down at his work again.

"But my desk is so dull," Grell says, sighing deeply, "regardless of the dozen red roses on top of it."

When Will doesn't take the bait, Grell blows the hair out of his face and adjusts himself primly.

"Wouldn't you like to know where they came from?" he asks, examining the tips of his nails.

"Not particularly, Sutcliff," Will says, bending forward and adjusting his glasses to look more closely at some poor reaper's unclear notes. He scowls – the sign of terrible penmanship. "I would guess one of your many admirers."

"Oh, Will!" Grell exclaims, clapping his hands together and sitting up slightly. "I never know you noticed I have admirers!"

"Everyone notices," Will replies bluntly, taking out his red pen and making ominous circles around a few words (this means the report is unacceptable and that the reaper assigned to the job must re-complete the form). He slides the cap back on neatly and sets it aside, perfectly lined up with his sharpened pencil. "It's quite plain that many are enamored with you. I am not."

"Will, you're so terribly mean," Grell pouts.

"Where idid/i you acquire those... shoes?" Will asks suddenly, his eyes fixed on the red high-heeled boots Grell is wearing.

"Oh, the most lovely woman. I arrived to reap her - a very peaceful death, mind you, from old age - and she offered me her entire wardrobe. Quite generous."

Will doesn't know if Grell is lying to him, but assuming he's being truthful, Will would rather leave it at that and not fill out even more paperwork about ungainly acquisitions from reaps.

Surprisingly, a small voice also pipes up in Will's head that Grell has never lied to him before. At least that's one point in Grell's favor against the thousands he racks up every day where Will's concerned.

Nevertheless, Will finds himself curious (he considers this his absolute worst quality), and Grell looks surprised as Will continues to stare at his shoes.

"Would you like to try them on?" Grell asks, a devious smile in his voice.

"Of course not, Sutcliff," Will says, coughing a bit, "those are ladies shoes."

Will can see Grell searching his face for more, but Will means nothing more than what he said.

"It's no wonder you only get a quarter of your reaps completed," Will finally says, "wearing those things."

Grell goes back to filing his nails. "Well, darling," he says, "if you really must know, it's not the shoes. It's that I simply refuse to exert myself to such an extent as to sweat. It's a positively irevolting/i sensation, and derides one's self esteem as well as appearance." He finishes with a self-righteous little huff and turns up his nose.

"Sutcliff, must you waste my time with these anecdotes while I'm trying to work?" Will says, frowning as he opens a book to tick off the completed assignments - proper forms turned in with legible handwriting - and which ones are pending.

"Your feet are much bigger than mine, anyway," Grell says lightly, not looking up at Will again.

Will actually stops writing to stare at Grell now.

"What are you talking about?"

"I said," Grell says, putting the nail file down and swinging into a sitting position, "your feet are quite large, Will. It's a wonder you manage to get yourself around at all. I do know the saying about men with big feet," Grell gives him a positively indecent wink, "however, I remember yours to be frightfully large."

"My feet are not... frightful," Will says, centering his full attention on Grell now. "They're of absolutely average size."

"Well," Grell sniffs, primping his hair and playing with the ridiculous candy-striped ribbon tie he's wearing today, "you certainly wouldn't fit into imy/i shoes."

Will tells himself he's not going to argue with Grell over whether he could fit into the other's shoes.

High heeled, ladies shoes.

No, he is not.

"My feet are not irregular," he says through gritted teeth, and the laughter lurking in Grell's voice perturbs him even more. "And... we are probably of a similar size."

Now Grell does laugh. "Oh, William," he says in a provocative voice, "I've riled you with fiery passion, built up from long hours of hidden lust."

Grell is standing now, arms clutched passionately around himself, rubbing his hands up and down them with great gusto.

"I've broken through your icy exterior to see the geyser of burning love underneath. Oh my, how positively scandalous!"

Will faces Grell with a flat, unreadable stare. After a moment of this, Grell sits back down primly, crosses his legs, and smirks at Will.

"Do hand me the polish, darling," he says, and then leans back with his legs over the chair's armrest again.

"Fine," Will grits out.

Even Grell raises an eyebrow at that. "Pardon?"

"I'm curious about your shoes."

They just stare at each other for a moment; when Will doesn't falter, Grell raises an eyebrow. Finally, he breaks the stare, and bends to slowly unlace one of the extravagant boots.

Will unlaces one of his neatly shined black shoes and pushes it off, waiting expectantly.

Grell stands up, still looking incredulous, and hands over the shoe. When Will actually accepts it, Grell can do nothing more than simply sit back down and watch Will intently, unspeaking for once.

Will bends down behind his desk, nothing visible due to the wood paneling that goes all the way across the front, and struggles a bit.

"You have to loosen the laces a bit more," Grell says helpfully. His advice is met with a dark stare.

However, apparently Will follows it, because when he sits up, he looks positively baffled.

"How in the world do you work like this, Sutcliff?" he asks, then adds, "Or rather... walk at all?"

Grell doesn't seem to be listening, though, his eyes fixed on the point behind the desk where Will's foot is, and he takes a sharp breath.

"Let me see," Grell says, voice a bit strained.

Will rolls his eyes, but nevertheless, hobbles out from behind his desk. He's managed to fit his foot into Grell's shoe and even lace it up, though it obviously doesn't fit.

"You see," Will says matter of factly, "my feet are not outrageously large. Now I do beg you cease that nonsense and-"

Grell leans forward to abruptly to yank up Will's trouser leg and stare before the exasperated rebuke is finished.

Will looks aghast for a moment as he reels back. "Do tell me that you're not..." his face colors slightly, but he keeps going, "iaroused/i by this, Sutcliff."

Grell doesn't even try to hide his obvious reaction; just looks away and holds his hand out. "May I have my shoe back, please. I'm quite afraid it will be ruined by your massive feet."

Will unlaces the shoe and awkwardly pulls it off his foot (which, to his credit, is not abnormally large, but certainly larger than Grell's), and hands the shoe back to Grell.

Grell is immediately back to normal, though he's a bit flushed. He points his toes (Will notices that his foot iis/i rather petite) and says, "William, darling, would you care to assist me?"

"No," Will replies staunchly, and goes to sit back down at his desk. Unexpectedly, Grell stands and follows him, abandoning his own shoe.

"Let me try yours on," he says.

Will raises an eyebrow. "Absolutely not, Sutcliff."

Grell gives him a rather charming half-smile. "But I'm only curious, as were you."

Will can't fault him on that logic, so he pushes his shoe toward Grell.

It's two sizes too big, and Grell takes two steps before turning to stare at Will incredulously. "How do you walk in these, William?" The look on his face is genuinely baffled.

"They're quite practical. You should try the concept sometime."

"No thank you, my dear," Grell says, shedding Will's shoe with an expression of supreme distaste and returns to the chair to pull his boot back on.

"Regulation clothing is designed for maximum efficiency," Will states authoritatively, slipping his own shoe back on.

Unexpectedly, the door flies open and a rather frazzled looking junior stumbles in.

He stops abruptly and looks at both of them; Will freezes just as he's lacing up his shoe, and Grell, who is still pulling his boot on, just gives the poor boy a lecherous grin.

Then the younger recruit's expression turns hopeful. "Does this mean we get to choose our shoes too once we make senior?!"

"Out," Will barks, pointing his finger. "Return in five minutes, and under no circumstances ever stumble into my office unannounced again."

The junior turns absolutely white and trips backward out of Will's office, the door closing behind him.

"Do be nice," Grell reprimands. "At least that one has taste."

"iThat/i one has a smart attitude and terrible penmanship," Will retorts, frowning. He sits back down in his chair to continue with his work.

"Oh, Will, I know you can barely even read my writing," Grell says, standing.

"As deplorable as your conduct is, Grell," Will says, not looking up, "your handwriting is as dainty as that ridiculous footwear. It is possibly your only redeeming quality."

When there's no snarky response, he looks up.

Grell is looking at him with something that resembles... fondness.

"Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't send you a dozen roses."

"Will," Grell says simply, a small smile on his face, "you are utterly delectable."

Without further explanation, he turns and walks out the door.

Will watches him go for a moment, a surprised look on his face, before returning to his work.

That evening when he goes home, he studies himself in the mirror - black suit, neat tie, shined black shoes.

He takes off his shoes and argues with himself for a good five minutes before giving into further curiosity.

He positions himself in front of the mirror, rises to the balls of his feet, and walks a few steps, mimicking the action of wearing heeled boots, before stumbling and almost falling forward.

"No wonder you're so bloody mad, Sutcliff," he mumbles to himself. Although, he has to admit, perhaps he's going mad, too.

Unsurprisingly, he also blames this on Grell.


	3. Tea

_(ca. 1805-1810)_

Will is a creature of habit.

He arrives at the office at seven-thirty a.m. every morning and drinks his tea as he goes over the day's assignments, then doles them out accordingly.

He used to send a messenger over to Collections to present Grell with his part of the list, since Grell has become the greatest nuisance in Will's life since mismatched socks. However, the last time Grell had spent an entire day at a spa in London and then claimed to have never received the list, citing his entitlement to: _"Vacation, which I took right then since I assumed I wasn't needed. Really, darling, do you want the last image some poor human sees to be a ghastly, unmoisturized face? That's simply inhumane."_

Much to Will's chagrin, the messenger strategy had not only failed, but also completely backfired, and Grell had been placed on three days of desk work right outside his office.

He kept the door locked and the shades drawn for those few days. This didn't help matters when Grell left an envelope dangling from the doorknob with a giant, red lipsticked kiss imprint on it. The message inside only read: "Absence only makes the heart grow fonder, lover."

In order to prevent more "mishaps," Will walks over to Collections to present Grell with his assignments in person every day.

"Oh William, _darling_," Grell sings when he sees Will walk into the large, communal Collections office pit, "you've come to pay me a visit!"

"Your daily assignments," Will says, holding out the list in one hand and his cup of tea in the other.

Grell looks genuinely intrigued when his eyes land on Will's tea. "What is that?" he asks, accepting the list and toning down the theatrics.

Will blinks sleepily (regardless of his dogged work ethic, Will is _not_ a morning person); his first instinct is to try and deduce whatever it is that Grell's up to. Nothing comes to mind, though, and he honestly doesn't care, because it's eight a.m. (he's shocked Grell is actually on time), and he has better things to do.

"Darjeeling," he says flatly, and takes another sip.

"May I?" Grell asks, holding out his hand with his eyebrows raised.

For a moment, Will just stares at him, then says, "Get your own cup, Sutcliff."

"Oh, Will," Grell grins, and gets close to smell the tea as well as Will, "you're so generous. I just don't know what to do with myself sometimes! Please, please my love, stop this unnecessary flattery."

"Good day, Sutcliff," Will says, turning on his heel.

A few mornings later, when Grell comes in late, he finds a tea bag on his desk next to his assignments.


End file.
